That's where I'll be waiting
by 1stVIIIcox
Summary: Peter Pan continues to rediscover himself, and this in turn affects his decisions as to how his life may change. The path to enlightenment is a complex one...
1. I'll be waiting

…...

**You know that place between sleep and awake? That place where you still remember dreaming?**

**That's where I'll always love you... Peter Pan. That's where I'll be waiting…**

….

Chapter One

The hazy sunlight filtered around the silhouette of her tiny frame, and enclosed around it, dissolving her body into nothingness. The only proof of the event was the remains of tiny golden particles joyfully dancing and twinkling down towards the statue's arm. A statue Mr Banning deeply recognised, like an old photo, or a distant memory.

Tinkerbell couldn't escape the emptiness of Neverland once more. The life had once again left this place, the soul, gone. Peter had departed once more, and her attempt at making him stay was initially relieving, but now made her feel even more alone and neglected than ever. The Lost Boys appeared tired and quite contrasted to their usual playful selves that ran and jumped along yesterday. They scratched heads, sat cross-legged, lay asleep with solemn faces, even the small twinkling arrival of Tinkerbell raised few eyes to the dying atmosphere. Thud Butt slowly lifted himself onto his feet.

"Is he coming back?"

"Has Peter ever let us down? He'll be here when he needs to be"

"But he'll get old…older. He'll forget us."

Tink didn't reply. She drifted onto a tree branch and slumped down. She didn't know if he'd remember. She didn't know. It seemed as though love could only be stretched so far before it was turned into a feeling of rejection. Tinkerbell had been so protective of Peter, she'd been a mother to him, a friend, and watched him grow into her perfected idea of a partner, courageous, daring, and optimistic. She'd watched his affections grow for Wendy, and for Moira, and felt awful for trying to corrupt his path. Tinkerbell felt like an old toy to a growing child. From the glowing eyes started to flow small dainty tears. Her head fell into her hands, and from her sobs, Tinkerbell fell into sleep.

...

Peter Banning knew his identity, a lost thought recollected from the back of his mind. He had earned trust and love from his children, vowing to be there for them while they still dearly needed their parents in innocent childhood. Peter had also remembered why he had left Neverland, and how in his growing up, he had lost his reasons. To be the father he never knew would have been an awfully grand adventure, and it had been. Peter had rediscovered flight, his skill with a sword, his newfound confidence (or rather amusing arrogance), yet felt there was still things he had not discovered. There were things that were still clouded about his memories of Neverland, but for now, things were back to normal.

It was a glorious sunny day in London, reflecting a light warm orange colour off the snow that covered the city. Wendy Darling was awoken by a slow creak as the bedroom door opened.

"Peter? Why hello, good morning my boy"

"Wendy...I, I.."

Questions needed to be questioned and only Wendy had the answers. Wendy smiled sweetly as she raised her frail body into a comfortable position to converse with her son-in-law. She had once loved the young boy that never grew up, but that itself stopped any form of relations between the two, she wanted life, and he, childhood. Peter had an attraction to the family line; he befriended her father many years before her, and now was the husband to her daughter, and the father of her grandchildren. Peter's disturbed, anxious expression seemed to ask how she knew all along, after so many years. Wendy knew.

"Because Peter, the people _you_ meet never forget you. Nobody that meets Peter Pan forgets. You must remember that what you want isn't always good for you. Peter, you had a family, a life, happiness. For the life of me I cannot understand how you thought the thought of growing up would match the reality. I'll always see Peter Pan as the young boy with a cheeky smile, beautiful muddy blonde hair and bright shiny blue eyes. When I saw the boy who never grew up, grow up, I never saw Peter Pan again, I saw something ordinary, normal, everything that you were not."

Wendy closed her eyes and smiled. She could see him; covered in old leaves and dirty green tights, young wispy hair and a bright face. His blonde hair washed over his eyebrows, and curled around his ears. His eyes shone, and his milk teeth reflected the morning sun in a cheeky grin.

"I don't understand."

"Peter, you're needed. It's up to you to find out where. You've grown, but you're not gone. You have a choice again, to be a man for a generation, or to be eternal."

Behind her closed eyes, Wendy Darling seemed to see the boy swim over to the window in mid-air, and open it. He beckoned her over with a wink, and she followed. She remembered Peter Pan, she never forgot. The smile stayed as her head crooked over her shoulder, her body falling into the comfort of the pillows.

"Wendy? Wendy! WENDY!"

...

**First Chapter is DONE hope you've enjoyed it, there's still plenty more to come.**

**Any ideas folks? Please R&R, much appreciated :)**

**Thankyaaaa x**


	2. Desperation

Peter Banning stared at his black shoes amidst the slightly overgrown grass. The rain splashed over the hard, cold material. Droplets tapped against his jacket, seeping into the cloth. The water seemed to mould into the dampness with every sharp, tiny, collision. The time spent moulding his hair was ruined, as the taste of diluted wax ran from the strands down his face and into his mouth. His eyes scrunched up in an attempt to stop the rain irritating them, not that he had any desire to witness the spectacle in front of him. Many figures, dark figures matched the centre of attention. The height of intricacy had created such an attractive box. The wooden frame was painted a rich glossy black, golden handles decorating the sides of the piece. As it was lowered into the earth, Peter heard weeps, sobs, cries.

He wasn't used to this. He had hardly dealt with death; it was something that had rarely occurred around him. Peter wanted to cry, he desperately wanted to call for his mother, his only true friend. He couldn't. He was a leader. Like before. He had a gang to look after, Peter was too proud to back down. Moira was falling apart. Jack had a vacant face of horror. Maggie gripped Peter's hand with an unusual pressure, her head buried in his side. Despite this, Peter felt alone.

Nobody knew Peter Banning's true capability better, nobody else on Earth possessed to the truth behind his purpose and desire.

Peter had been in London for three weeks since his "mysterious" return, and he was beginning to feel a weight and depression about his character. Wendy didn't have much in her possession to leave her family, there was money spread, certain belongings that may have been of interest, but Peter received a letter. An old letter. A letter written nearly eighty years ago, yet still kept in a decent condition. As the rest of the family sat in the living room, Peter quietly stood up and walked out. He continued through the hallway, taking his coat off the hanger, and proceeded to open the door and leave the house. He was taking a walk to Kensington Garden to that statue of the boy.

...

The Lost Boys were fighting and running around a beach, scuffing up sand and shouting, laughing, happy. Sure enough, the boys were sad that Peter Pan had gone, but would it spoil their seemingly everlasting fun? Not in a million years. The smaller ones seemed to be the first to be ejected from the group, always with a smile on their faces. 'Next time…' there glinting eyes seemed to read. It took a good twenty minutes or so before all the boys lay with their backs on the golden beach. The only exception to the breathless group was a crafty boy who had analysed the situation, saw the prize, and snuck his way through the fighting to steal the small bit of chicken that had been looted from the Pirates.

"Hook!..."

Eyes instantly flew across to the left to see Thud Butt running as fast as he could (admittedly slower than most, but a valiant effort nonetheless). His clothes were ripped, and as he gasped for air after every other step.

"Hook! Hook! Hook!"

The group of lost boys instantly became quite unsettled. Unrest and rumour spread through the gang like wildfire, until Thud Butt slowed to a stop and fell to his knees.

"What're you on about Thud?"

"Yeah, don't mess around man.."

"Not funny!"

Thud Butt regained his breath, looked up at the boys, and pointed out over the sea. A large wooden ship glided effortlessly over the waves, large white sails rigged high and proud. After the recognition it took the witnesses a second or two before a gasp was cried out in unison, and panic flooded between them.

Thud Butt waited for a while before finally standing up and laughing hysterically. "That be the pirates leavin' boys! Relax!"

The alarmed crowd stopped their desperation, and turned to Thud Butt, before charging over to him with huge battle cries, loud enough to make a lion jump out of his skin.

A day in the life of the Lost Boys was a happy one. Everyone understood each other, and loved one another, although they all had funny ways of showing it. They were brothers, and brothers stood up for one another. No one was excluded, and certainly, no one was forgotten.

Tinkerbell sat in the shade of a tree, occasionally sniggering at the amusement unfolding on the beach in front of her. She didn't often get involved with the boys' antics. She never really felt much connection between herself and any of the Lost Boys apart from…no. She wasn't going to start getting emotional again. It wasn't worth it. Despite her reluctance to even think about him, Tinkerbell wanted him back. She believed in Peter Pan. She believed in him. She missed him. And as leaves fell off trees, and the sun spent less time in the sky, so did Neverland.

One of the boys screamed. Tinkerbell snapped out of the daydream, rolling her eyes and fluttered down to sort out the mess.

"Gone too far again have we? You guys must be pretty bored, you've been doing the same thing for three weeks now! We need a game to play."

"A game!"

"Yeah!"

"What's the game!"

Tinkerbell almost felt little on the back foot now she had gotten involved. She wasn't really the game-maker, that was always arrogant little Peter's expertise.

"Well how about good old hide and seek?"

Unsure nods of agreement spread across the boys, and one unfortunate boy was pushed to be "it" first, and as he closed his eyes, the rest sprinted as fast and as far as they could possibly go, leaving the little glowing pixie and the small boy alone.

"56…57…58…"

"You can stop counting, they've all gone" Tinkerbell said smiling.

The boy opened his eyes, squinting at the light. It seemed a little brighter than a minute ago. He grinned at Tink as a 'thank you', followed by his skinny legs picking up as he hopped along the sand and disappeared into the green of the forest. Tinkerbell, now alone, decided to check up once more how her boy…man…was doing.

...

The small, eloquent handwriting was clearly manufactured with precision and elegance. The black ink had faded slightly with age, but had still retained its clarity and form on the small rectangular brown paper.

_Dearest Peter_

_You have taught me so much, nothing more so than, however, that belief can solve all goals. If you can learn to believe like Peter Pan, you should never have to worry about letting down another soul. _

_Keep safe, but also risk._

_Yours eternally_

_Wendy_

Peter Banning sobbed at the foot of the statue in the Gardens. How could he believe when there was nothing to believe in. He had lost his way once again. Peter dropped to his knees hard, hitting the cold stone paving with a painful thud. He was oblivious to the feeling. The cold had weaved and infected his body. He stared up at the boy, innocent, young, playing the pipes. The image turned sideways as Peter dropped to the floor.

...

**Wasn't too sure here. Was a little tired, and a little eager to throw out a chapter 2..**

**Anyways, R&R, and i'll get back to chapter 3 asap.**

**x**


	3. Ashes to Ashes

The sky was a deep, dark, almost black shade of blue. No clouds disturbed the tiny specks of crystal that twinkled above. However, if one were to be situated underneath this beautiful night sky, something was missing. Something wasn't there.

London was its usual busy, brightly-lit self, the yellow lights echoed off the sides of buildings. There wasn't anything wrong with that. Maybe it was the buildings? Yes, that had to be it. Yet sure enough, the familiar sights of the old city were all there, the houses were where they should be, every road, pavement, street lamp and tree was in its rightful place. Peter Banning lifted his shoulders and perched his weight upon his forearms. His limbs felt stiff, numb; agonisingly cold. He hissed through his teeth as his shoulders gave way to the cold, his arms crippling underneath his torso. A quiet whimper floated with the condensation of his breath into the crisp air. He allowed himself to lie in the snow for now, he couldn't care less. Something was wrong, and he couldn't care less. His eyes blinked as they tried to scavenge some warmth from the eyelids, in some vain attempt to stop themselves from drying up. Peter counted stars. No one had come, no one would till morning. The two glistening orbs turned upwards to stare. It was a beautiful night, he admitted to himself.

The beauty of the night, however, was spoilt by Peter's observation of a glowing star that was growing in size. It was the second star on the right, along a familiar constellation, that's what was missing. He strained an arm to measure the star against his fingernails, and despite the immediate shock of his blue, shrivelled hands, the star was nearly the same size as his index fingernail, albeit a great distance farther away, but still of considerate size. The star continued to grow until it started to take the form of a human being, and the closer it got, the more it resembled his perfect image of a woman, an angel perhaps. Peter coughed through drying lungs, which turned into laughter. He was mad! Or dying! Or, suddenly feeling his pained body again, hopefully both. Anything to take him away.

"Peter! You complete idiot! What the hell have you done?"

"Ha Ha! I thought angels were meant to be calming and sweet? This is a little rude do you not think considering I'm dying, show a man some respect! Can I just go please, I don't know if you've noticed, it's a little cold and I may catch a chill out here!" Peter said through fits of laughter.

"Right, you're coming with me. We should never have let you go."

"She's dead Moira. Wendy's dead. I thought you were there? Ha! You're almost as mad as me!"

"…I'm sorry Peter"

The howls of laughter quite rapidly turned into sobs. Not much could be understood through his slurred words and his taught shaking mouth, but the only recognizable words were "boy" and "again".

He was scared to open his eyes. Partly because he could see the intensity of the light even through his eyelids, and because he wasn't sure whether he was dead or not. His senses slowly came around, and he could feel his skin against something damp underneath him. All of his skin. He was naked? And outside? He slowly tried to move, and writhed around. The surface beneath him felt soft, it could move around underneath him, it stuck to his body. He opened his eyelids just so that small fragments of light could find their way through his eyelashes and through his pupils. The initial burning forced them shut again quickly. He was in an open area, as there was no shade. A shallow hissing noise grew slightly, yet it was peaceful and calming. Peter lay there for a while; it was comforting to his ears, which helped the pain that swept inside his head. He must have been here for a long time, he felt what he assumed was an awakening from a comatose state, or waking up from unconsciousness. His mind drifted back to Kensington Gardens…he couldn't have been lying there for a whole season could he? Surely the park grounds were not that unpopular.

He scrunched his hands into fists, and the surface underneath him collected in his palms, and escaped through his fingers. Another attempt at opening his eyes was in order, and Peter took a more aggressive grip on his mission, prying open the eyelids quickly, and taking in the surroundings. After continuous blinking and tears seeping across his face, he was able to see. He could not believe his eyes, another dream? Or another hallucination? Peter was lying face down on a beach that spanned out in front of him. Water lapped at his body, white foam jumping and engulfing his legs and feet with each calm wave. He pressed himself up and sat on his heels, his knees digging into the sand. Only fragments of wet sand that had stuck to him acted as a cover for his more private areas, but everything appeared much more unused, fresh and felt energetic. He was looking down at a fifteen, possibly sixteen year old boy, and the sudden horror of it soon turned to anxiety and curiosity. This was not Peter Banning. He stood up. His legs and back worked perfectly as they sprang up into life, and Peter felt lively. Very lively. He took a skip, which broke into a run and threw sploshes of water as each heavy footfall hit the sea. His cheekbones grew tight as a grin emerged from ear to ear. The deeper he got, the more he had to lift his legs to continue his pace, before his slightly shortened height was overcome by the water, and Peter finished his sprint with an elaborate dive into the water.

He crouched under the water, found his feet on the soft bed and sprang up, pushing himself back up to the surface. The salt made his eyes sting, but he liked it. He was young again. Not a care in the world. He waded through the waist-high water towards the shore.

"Having fun?" a quiet voice enquired.

Peter stopped in his tracks. The beauty and grace of the voice soothed his head, despite the short question. His hands ran from his chin, through his hair, and back to his crown, pushing water out of his eyes. As his vision returned, Peter instantly crouched a little in the water to hide himself. It was Tinkerbell. But, big. Big? She had done some funny magic again.

"You're probably wondering why everything's changed, there's a lot to explain."

"Yeah, kind of…erm Tink?" Peter seemed quite worried as the woman waded her way into the water slowly. He was only young, again, and was a little self-conscious. Tinkerbell opened her arms and grabbed Peter, pulling him into an embrace. Peter, despite his embarrassment, wrapped his arms around her. She was about the same size as him, which amused Peter slightly…

"Boy…it feels good to be back"


End file.
